Thursday, June 30, 2011

It dawned on me last week as I was driving home and imagining swerving up onto the sidewalk or going through the stop sign and running over every smug bastard out jogging that maybe I have a problem. I mean, I can find someone to run over every time I drive my car anywhere. Even if I just drive somewhere in my neighborhood there are people that I want to run over.

Does anyone else feel this way or am I a complete psychopath?

Of course, I would never run anyone over. Well, I haven't yet.

On the "To Run-Over" List:

- People riding their bike in front of me when I'm trying to drive anyfuckingwhere.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Haha just kidding. I totally drink out of plastic bottles and don't recycle them.

What I'm referring to is my 'camping trip.' What I actually did was go to Bonnaroo. I know I know, sorry for the deception, but I'm all like, "What if there's a crazy person that knows I'm leaving my house and knows where I live and wants to break into my house and wear my tampons as a hat?"

Not that I think any of you fine folks would actually do that, but if you follow me there is a possibility that you might be just a little off. Safety first!

Btw - When we got home we had to deal with this:

No idea how long that was like that. I bet my neighbors fucking loooooooooooove that. Well not these neighbors because they sleep during the day and crawl around like spiders at night.

I could probably write like 40 blog entries about Bonnaroo. Seriously, it was that fucking ridiculously crazy.

We can't get this in Ohio. We were really thrilled because basically all we did was get drunk.

You prefer to not shower for a week while simultaneously experiencing direct sunlight from 8:00am to 5:30pm, the most dust you've seen outside of grandma's panties, and 90+ degree weather.

You love to inhale dust and have black boogers

My leg isn't really that fat, it's a bad angle. I swear. I have nice legs.

You love to be accosted by hippies that walk around following the smell of weed so they can, "You know, make a trade, man."

You love to sleep on the ground in a tent that is over 100 degrees by 8:00am. Also, the tent leaks at night when it rains.

You love severe sunburns even though you put on an entire gallon of 50spf lotion

You love to smell yourself with the rankest BO you ever produced, as well as 500,000 OTHER people's BO.

You love to walk 20 fucking miles every day

You love to sit in your car for 5 hours waiting to get into the campground

You're one of those people that HAS to have bragging rights about going to such and such concert and seeing such and such band.

You love asking your neighbor to jump your truck and then realizing that he and his wife are in their car smoking some meth

You love to hear that same neighbor scream such things at his wife as: "You're a WHORE. No YOU'RE a piece of shit! I'm not the one sexting my BOYFRIEND while I'm on vacation with my HUSBAND." Then watch her throw cans at his head and run away. Yeah. Domestic abuse is SO MUCH FUN.

You enjoy sitting under a canopy for up to six hours because it's too goddamned hot to even move.

You love to sit on dirt a mile away from every band you could possibly want to see

You love having your only bathroom be a Porta John that sits and bakes in the sun all goddamned day and is filled with flies and used by other dirty hippies that aren't shy about shitting on the floor or pissing all over the toilet seat. Bonus points if you love not using toilet paper and waiting in line for 40 minutes to use the bathroom.

I'm sorry to any of you that read this and have gone to Bonnaroo and enjoyed it. What the fuck were you thinking?? It was probably the worst thing I've ever done in my life.

Justin and I were talking about Aborigines (you know, like you do) on the way home and how they go on a "walkabout" or spiritual journey. I feel like Bonnaroo was my spiritual journey, my test of strength. I honestly thought I'd lose my mind and bludgeon Justin or some hapless hippy to death with the useless fan in our tent. You might say that I'm a tid bit high-maintenance, but I say I'm just too old to fucking want to do that shit ever fucking again. Basically, I learned that I'm a much tougher mo fo than I thought I was.

And much smellier too. I mean, I knew before that I could work up a mean case of BO, but I have washed my pits like four times with antibacterial soap and they STILL STINK.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Just as the title states, planning a group camping trip via email. Just for FYI, Jessica's nickname is Poopy so those names are exchangeable. Just to avoid confusion. As if that nickname isn't confusing.